


Lover, Hunter, Friend, and Enemy

by obscureshipyard



Series: Hydra Husbands [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Kissing, Emotionally Repressed, Fix-It of Sorts, Human disaster Brock Rumlow, Jack being Jack, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Jack, Porn with Feelings, sober consent is always sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27777400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obscureshipyard/pseuds/obscureshipyard
Summary: After a night of drinking Brock confronts Jack with a long held secret and turns their world upside down.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Series: Hydra Husbands [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2032084
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just love these two, and as I said to my beta-reader TemptedForTea (thanks for the edits!!) they're two gorgeous, brooding, bad guys with minimal character development in the canon... perfect fodder for fics about misunderstood, loving spouses that just didn't get the attention they deserved! :D

“How is someone so tiny so heavy?” Jack grunted as he shouldered Brock through the apartment door. The smaller man made a noise somewhere between a growl and a laugh as he leaned more heavily on his second in command.

“Hey, fuck you, I ain’t tiny.” Brock slurred into the exposed skin of Jack's neck. Brock’s whisky laden breath stung Jack's eyes.

He cursed himself for offering to take Brock home after a night of "team building" at some dive bar near base. Brock’s hands found every excuse to grab Jack’s arms and torso, almost feeling him up every step of the way. Drunk sorority girls had more tact, and better excuses for copping a feel than Brock’s slurred accusations that Jack was making him lose his balance.

In retaliation-- and for his own sanity-- Jack shoved his intoxicated commander at a wall inside the apartment as he closed and deadbolted the front door.

Brock squawked his indignation as he gracelessly recovered to his feet. Jack was impressed the man was still standing, albeit using the wall as a back support.

Brock was staring at him again. Those intense brown eyes were clouded with… something. Jack's heart squeezed tight, wishing it were something like lust or affection. But his brain knew better. Half a bottle of whisky could wreak havoc on a man of Brock's size who only had a daily net carb intake of 10 grams.

But that look… how close Brock had stayed all night; the years long crush Jack had been harboring like some love struck teen. Brock stared, and Jack felt his body give in to the magnetism.

The taller man moved slowly, his heart thundering as he dared to get close. Sure, they had been plastered together just a few moments before, but this was different. They were alone, a buzzing tension between them. There was no mission to distract them, no one to interrupt.

There was no noise, other than their slow, deep breathing. Jack watched Brock's face for any sign of panic, but the commander's handsome features remained slack with a drunken grin.

Jack was inches away, soaking in the heat from Brock's body. The smaller man was always so warm, it made Jack want to rub up against him. Jack wanted a lot of things, and this was one he knew he'd never get.

Taking a step back, Jack caught movement in his periphery. Brock's hands rose up in a clumsy shove, putting them both off balance. Jack tried to keep them from hitting the ground, but over corrected. They ended up against the wall, pressed close, Jack pinning Brock's hands on either side of his head. Brock laughed out loud, bucking his hips and smiling.

"You're drunk, commander." Jack forced the words out between clenched teeth. His body ached to betray him, ignore all the reasons this was a bad idea and just take.

"Yeah, I might not even remember this in the morning." Brock dipped his head in close, then pulled back just the barest inch. Hungry eyes begged Jack for more.

“But, I will." Pulling away from Brock hurt like a shot to the gut. Jack was good with pain. He was used to self-denial. He’d been infatuated with Brock Rumlow for nearly as long as he had known the man, fully aware he had no chance with the straight-as-an-arrow commander.

Jack moved to the familiar kitchen, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge. The air was cooler. He could breathe when Brock didn't have him pinned with those eyes. He kept his back turned away as Brock walked into the kitchen.

It was an advantage in the field, to know your commander so well you could always sense when he was close. But here, to be so close and know he'd never be able to touch, to hold, to be wanted in return… it was hell.

Jack handed over the bottle of water without a word. The other man just chuckled dryly before taking a drink.

“Pierce knows.” Brock was the first to break the silence.

“Pierce knows everything.” Jack said, face impassive. Hydra knew every secret Jack had, so Pierce knew it, too. Jack braced himself for whatever little insight Pierce had leaked to Brock to make them squirm. After so many years Jack was used to the manipulation.

“He knows you love me… says it’s _advantageous_." Brock mimicked the older man's voice. Jack would have given him shit for the piss poor impression, but he couldn't think over the rush of blood in his ears.

Pierce knew he loved Brock, not a surprise. But he'd told... he'd...Brock knew he-- _shit_. Jack was scrambling, trying to keep the panic from his eyes as Brock slurred his way to the next sentence.

"Says he knows you’d betray him if the chips were down, but you’d never betray me.” Brock scanned Jack’s face as he spoke, then sauntered to stand in front of the other man. Jack was completely frozen. He didn’t know what to do, and the commander he trusted to guide him out of any shitstorm was the one responsible for it all.

“Ya look cute with your mouth hangin’ open like that.” Brock smiled, lazy and slow. The shorter man sighed deeply, looking down where his hands were snaking up Jack’s chest until they settled around the back of his neck.

Jack was powerless, everything moving too fast and too slow. Brock pulled him down and Jack went willingly. He drowned in heat and whisky with the promise of everything he’d ever wanted. Alarm bells rang out in the back of his skull but Jack couldn’t even pretend to care.

Brock’s body rubbed up against Jack with a teasing friction as his mouth made promises of all the dirty things Jack had ever fantasized. He wanted it to be real. His fingers dug into the warm muscle of Brock’s back and it felt real. His dick thickened in his pants rubbing hard against Brock’s thigh and it felt real. But it wasn’t.

“You’re drunk.” Jack gasped between kisses. Brock didn’t slow down. Not even Jack’s hand at his throat pushing him back stopped him from thrusting his hips harder, tearing at Jack’s shirt.

“Fuck me.” Lust flared in those heavy-lidded eyes. Jack’s brain fogged with the thought that Brock might be into getting held down and dominated. But Pierce, and Hydra, Jack hated being manipulated like this. He hated that they were using Brock.

It took Brock getting twisted around by Pierce then drunk out of his mind to finally touch Jack. The thought had Jack’s stomach roiling in disgust.

“Brock. Go to bed.” Jack said. His voice was low and broken. Finally, Brock stilled, staggering back and taking all his warmth with him. Jack ground his teeth together, ready to kill something. He wanted to fight, he wanted to go after every string-pulling bureaucratic asshole Hydra had.

Pierce was right, Jack could care less if he caught a bullet tonight or any other. But he’d never endanger Brock. If he turned on Pierce or Hydra in any way, they wouldn’t waste a thought on him, they’d hurt Brock, just to prove a point.

"You're sleeping here tonight. Gotta make sure I don't die of alcohol poisoning." The commander stumbled off to his bedroom.

Jack stretched out on the couch.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack didn't sleep. He seethed and plotted. Before three a.m. he planned six different ways to take down Hydra and kill Pierce slowly. He mapped out how he’d take everything apart.

But every time it would end with Brock dead. The light would go out of those soulful eyes and it would be Jack's fault. 

By six Jack forced himself up. He knew Brock would be awake soon. Decades of discipline and training meant the commander was up by sunrise, hangover be damned.

Jack had a pot of coffee brewed and ready by the time Brock got out of the shower. He fixed a mug for himself and added Brock's godawful keto supplement to the second.

Brock stepped into the living room, wild hair still wet. The bastard hadn't gotten dressed, just lounging bare chested in a tight pair of boxer briefs. Jack wanted to kill him, almost as much as he wanted to fuck him.

“Keto coffee, aspirin.” Jack pointed to the mug and pill bottle sitting on the coffee table in front of him. He didn't bother keeping his voice low. He hoped Brock's head was splitting.

The nearly naked man dove into the coffee and washed down a few pills with it for good measure. "You didn’t cook me breakfast?" He teased, hip resting against the armrest of the couch where Jack sat.

"You don't eat breakfast." He refused to rise to the bait. He was angry and hurt and had absolutely no idea what to do with it.

"What I said last night…" Brock scrubbed his hand over his face. "What I did last night--"

"You were drunk." Jack kept his voice flat. He stared holes into the floor and clenched his jaw tight. His gut rolled with the battle of hope and logic.

They could move past this, bury it down with all the other secrets and lies. Jack had been living with this hole in his heart for years, nothing had to change.

Brock stood from where he leaned on the couch, coffee abandoned. Jack braced himself for the silence. Brock would wander off to his bedroom, get dressed, and they'd never speak of this again.

"Look at me." Brock's voice was quiet, but the command was clear. Jack traced his eyes up the miles of tan skin slowly. He didn't bother to hide the desire in his gaze. Brock already knew the truth.

“I’m sober.” A long moment stretched out between them. Jack tried to understand what the hell Brock was saying. The confusion must have shown too clearly because before he could speak Brock was grabbing his face and pulling him up for a kiss.

Jack's brain switched off, apparently a common side effect of kissing Brock Rumlow. He couldn't get his body to respond with anything other than melting into Brock completely. Jack’s hands lifted to touch but didn't get far, as Brock climbed into his lap like he had every right to be there.

 _Sober_ , Brock was sober and practically naked, sitting in Jack's lap, biting at his lips and teasing his tongue. Jack must be dreaming; it was the only explanation. If this was a dream, well, then he would take everything offered. Jack grabbed Brock's ass, tight muscle filling his palms. Both men groaned as they ground together, but it wasn't enough.

Jack pulled Brock in tight and flipped their position on the couch. Brock laid out, exposed and needy. His lips were swollen and wet from Jack's kisses. He made such a pretty picture, Jack got on his knees to worship.

Brock's skin was warm beneath his lips and tasted fresh from the shower. Jack found all the places that made Brock writhe. The thick cock he had felt last night now pressed insistently into the stretched material of the boxer briefs.

The larger man moved slowly, wanting to savor every minute. Brock's nipples were tight buds from the abuse of Jack's tongue and teeth. Jack traced the goosebumps down the valleys of Brock's abdominals until he met the elastic and polyester.

It was all a dream, Jack reasoned. He could take, he could give, he could have anything he wanted. And right now, that was only one thing. Jack pulled the fabric away, unwrapping Brock like the gift he was. His fingers dug into the thick muscle of Brock's thighs, opening him wide.

Jack had to swallow, lest he drool looking at the thick slab of meat before him. And it was all his. Brock hissed through clenched teeth as Jack licked up his shaft and suckled at the head. The salty taste of pre-come mixed with saliva as Jack slowly took Brock down his throat.

Trembling fingers tangled in his hair, encouraging him on. Jack looked up only to find the most gorgeous face twisted in bliss and agony. The responding throb of heat shot through his gut. Jack worked Brock hard with his mouth and tongue.

One hand held fast at Brock’s hip, pressing bruises into the skin. The other hand made its way into Jack’s pants. He groaned, letting the sound vibrate Brock’s cock, as he clamped down hard on himself to keep from coming on the spot.

“Jack, fuck-- Jack, so good.” Brock moaned, going tight as a bowstring beneath him. Jack toyed with the thick vein along the underside of Brock’s dick as it throbbed. “Close, _shit_.”

Jack swallowed Brock down, intent on ripping the orgasm from his commander and making it hurt. His own fist sped up, bringing him right to the edge. Brock exploded with a gasp. His hips pumped then froze, back arching off the couch as Jack continued to suck.

He swallowed down every pulse of salty come, trying to memorize the flavor as he felt his own body give over to orgasm shooting ropes of come over his fist.

Jack collapsed over Brock’s sweaty body taking in his scent with deep breaths, trying to commit every scent and feeling to memory. He was sure he’d wake up from this dreamworld soon and didn’t want to miss a single detail.

“You gonna spend all day down there?” Brock’s lazy taunt pulled Jack’s attention to the warm brown eyes watching him. Jack wiped his hand on his already ruined pants and gave into Brock completely.

They ended up sprawled over the sofa, Brock lying mostly on top of Jack. Despite being fully nude Brock’s body was still a furnace keeping him warm as they cuddled.

Jack felt like the world had been flipped upside down. Not only was he not waking up but things were feeling too real. Brock’s sweat was sticking uncomfortably to his clothing, the armrest of the couch was straining the hell out of Jack’s neck, and despite being mostly recovered from his orgasm Brock was still real and in his arms.

“I can hear you thinking.” Brock admonished.

“One of us should.” Jack said. He should be doing more than thinking, he should be planning. If this was real then they needed to plan what to do next, what this all meant, what--

“Think later. I didn’t get any good sleep last night.” Brock yawned and stretched out on top of Jack, his body going limp and heavy like the best weighted blanket Jack could ever want.

The pull of sleep proved too much even for Jack’s racing thoughts. He wrapped his arms around Brock and slept.


End file.
